


The Agony Faded

by insideofadog



Series: Dragon Age Nonsense [2]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-27
Updated: 2015-10-27
Packaged: 2018-04-28 09:30:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,031
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5086570
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/insideofadog/pseuds/insideofadog
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fenris and Sebastian need to figure out their own plans for the future, but does the Maker have something different in mind for them both? Written for Tumblr user @tuathlavellan, as part of the @daficswap.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Agony Faded

I dreamed about him last night. Soft lips, pressed up against my neck. A firm hand, pressing me back into my bed. Blue eyes, the most intense I’d ever seen.

“Sebastian,” I said.

“Hush,” he whispered.

I woke in absolute agony. He was kneeling next to me, his hand on my chest.

My entire body throbbed, not with arousal, but with intense pain.

“Lay still,” he commanded. “I’ll go get the healer.”

He was gone a moment later, and I looked around. I was in his tent. His bedroll was soft, softer than mine—I suppose there are perks associated with being rich—and there was another spread next to where I slept. He must have spent the evening next to me.

My torso and upper legs were swathed in bandages. I remembered then: fighting maleficarum with the Inquisition, a fireball exploding directly in front of me, the healer rushing into the fray to drag me out.

This is not how I wanted to end up in his bed, that was for certain. He’d always been a blindingly handsome man. Always understanding, always kind, even to me at my most…prickly. Seeking to serve the Maker, fighting against his darker impulses. He’d fallen after Kirkwall, but he was picking himself up again. I respected that, so much.

Over the past few weeks, I had fallen too, but not in the same way. I had not thought there’d be room in my heart for this sort of feeling again. I’d always cared about him as a friend, but now I wanted more. More than I knew he’d be able to give me. A different sort of agony, that.

Sebastian returned, the Inquisition healer in tow.

She knelt next to me and pulled up a bandage and grunted.

“I told you before, he’ll live,” she said, her voice curt.

“He’s in so much pain. Isn’t there anything else you can do?” He gave her his most charming smile, and I felt like throwing up. No woman was immune to that smile. Neither were a lot of men. I know I wasn’t. Not that he ever smiled at me like that.

She gave him a hard stare in return. Perhaps this healer was moderately immune to his charms, after all.

“Of course there are things I can do. I’m a healer, and he’s covered in burns. But when I risked my life to drag him off the battlefield, all he said to me afterwards was, ‘Don’t touch me, mage.’ You’d be amazed how that impedes my healing abilities.”

I let out a groan. I couldn’t believe I’d done that. Except of course I could believe I’d done that.

“Please help him,” Sebastian wheedled. “My friend is a good man, Enchanter. He wants to serve the Inquisition, just as you or I. He…had some terrible experiences with mages in his past. He doesn’t hate you. The Maker blessed you with the gifts you have to help others, did he not?”

“Last I checked, the man is alive, and I saved his life. And that’s all I’m going to do,” she shrugged, her voice flat, “because the man who reported me to the Templars, when I was a child, was an elf. They took me away from my family because of him. I experienced horrors in the Circle. And now I just…hate all elves. They simply can’t be trusted. None of them.”

Sebastian squared his shoulders. “I am the Prince of Starkhaven, Enchanter, and this man is my friend. He is not all elves, and I will not allow you to—“

“Stop, stop,” I coughed. I raised an eyebrow at the mage. “My companion is sometimes not the most subtle. Thank you for saving my life, mage. I owe you a debt, and I repaid you in the worst way possible. It was poorly done, and I am sorry.”

I paused for a moment, weary from talking. Sebastian knelt by my side and gave me a worried frown.

“Rest, Fenris,” he murmured.

 “No, no,” I shook my head. “I need to tell her this. I’m sorry, mage. I was half out of my mind with pain, and I barely remember. It was a habit I’ve formed over a lifetime.”

He looked up at her. “And I am sure Fenris is sorry that elf—“

“Oh, hush,” she said, and knelt down next to me. “I was lying about that. I think elves are lovely, and one elf apologizing on behalf of all of them is stupid. Hold still.”

“What?” Sebastian yelped.

“Oh,” I said weakly. I couldn’t help but smile at her. I have a soft spot for no-nonsense, abrasive women.

“Help me get these off,” she ordered Sebastian. “I can’t heal him up with all this fabric sticking to his wounds.”

She slowly pulled the bandages up off my skin. I looked down—she’d been right, the burns weren’t life-threatening or particularly severe. They were red and oozing, but not black or inflamed. There were just so many of them, and even mild burns are extremely painful. I told myself this, as I attempted to regulate my breathing and not scream like a small child.

She squinted down at my torso, and held a hand an inch or two over my skin. “Your tattoos are strange.”

“They’re made with lyrium,” I grunted. “They were…agony.”

“Can I heal around these without any kind of ill effect?” she asked Sebastian. “I’ve never seen anything like this before, and I don’t want to damage your friend.”

“It should be fine,” he assured her. “Please, just…hurry.”

She leaned closer to me.

“Listen to me, Fenris. I can’t change the way you feel about mages. That pain is your own, and is not one that I can heal. But I did save your life, and I’m going to ask you to do something for me in exchange.”

I was fading in and out from pain and exhaustion, but I fought to maintain consciousness. I owed her that.

“What is it?” I whispered.

“Stop addressing mages as ‘mage.’ Learn our names. It is what I am, not _who_ I am. When you don’t bother to use my name, you make the word into an insult. Wouldn’t you agree, _elf_?”

“You’re not wrong,” I sighed.

She raised her eyebrows.

“You’re not wrong, _Gabrielle_ ,” I added. “I will try.”

“Excellent,” she nodded. “That is all I ask. Now, this is going to hurt. Burns are the worst. You will probably pass out.”

She planted her bare hands on my burnt skin and pressed down. Magic flooded through my body. I screamed in agony and then, as predicted, fainted.

First I dreamed of Hawke, drinking and laughing with me in my old mansion in Kirkwall. I’d been too weak to stay, and too weak to leave. Too weak to love her the way she really deserved, and too weak to allow myself to truly heal. Was I stronger, now?

Then I was walking with Sebastian outside the Kirkwall Chantry, its walls still intact. I loved this man, too, perhaps because I saw my old struggle in him: what did I want for myself, for my future?

And when our decisions were made, when the path was chosen…what we chose was always wrong, or it came too late.

And I decided, this time, I would not decide too late.

When I woke again, the tent was dark. I felt tired, but was no longer in any pain. Sebastian was sleeping next to me on his back, his distinctive profile barely visible.

I sat up. It was time to go back to my tent, back to my own life, and not pour out more emotion on a man who could not want me in return.

He turned then, and looked at me. He hadn’t been sleeping.

“How are you feeling?” he whispered.

“Better,” I nodded. “I should return to my own bed.”

He frowned. “I was thinking.”

“Sounds dangerous,” I smiled.

“Maybe,” he replied. “I was just thinking that I…I have ideas about what I’m supposed to want, and then I have the things that I _actually_ want. And I can’t choose between the two, and I can’t seem to ever make those things fit together, either. I wait too long, and somehow, I always end up with…nothing.”

“Ashes,” I said. “I ended up with ashes. I let my hatred for Denarius propel me forward until I got my revenge, but that hatred grew, and it cost me everything that really mattered.”

“Do you…still love her?” he asked.

I thought for a moment. “Yes and no. The person I loved never quite existed, not in the way I wanted, but that was my fault. And now she’s gone, and I know she would have wanted me to heal. To move on. Would have wanted me to learn Gabrielle’s name. So I’m trying. She’ll always be a part of me.” I shook my head. “I would never have known she’d died if she hadn’t taught me how to read.”

“I feel the same way, I suppose,” he replied. “I didn’t do right by her, but if she were here, she’d just kick me in the arse and tell me to start doing right by myself. Get on with my life.”

“There’s…er, someone else now, too,” I coughed. “I didn’t expect that to happen again.”

“Oh,” Sebastian stuttered, “Uh, congratulations, then.”

I shifted my weight a bit, and looked away. “It’s not…I am not right for this person. But…I will be well. It feels strange to believe that, but I think it is true.”

 “You are…trying to change,” he said. “It isn’t quite right, but you keep trying, don’t you?”

“I suppose so,” I shrugged. “What else can I do?”

“Wait too long,” he sighed. “Think too much. Talk yourself out of what you want, because it wasn’t part of the plan. But maybe…maybe I’m not supposed to be the one with the plan. Maybe I should leave that to the Maker.”

“Perhaps. As it is…” I cleared my throat, “I should go. I have put you out of your bed for too long.”

His brow furrowed, and he took a deep breath.

“Stay,” he blurted.

“I—what?”

“Please stay—I don’t know what I’m doing, but I know it’s wrong if you go,” he stammered, his words tumbling out over each other. “Ever since you got hurt I’ve been tied up in knots, and I think the Maker’s trying to tell me something. And I think…even if there is someone else, I should tell you that I care for you, very deeply, and I should do it now, before it’s too late—“

I reached over and took his hand. “It’s you,” I stated.

“What?”

“It’s you. The person I care for is you. I didn’t think I was what you wanted,” I shrugged.

He laughed, a bit shakily. “I didn’t think you were, either. Until you were. And I don’t know what to do, now. Sometimes I wish the Maker would be a bit more specific.”

I offered him a smile, and squeezed his hand. “Neither do I, but I don’t think it matters. I’ll stay, and that’s a start. Maybe you could…lay next to me?”

“Definitely,” he breathed.

So I lay down on my side, and he did too, and moved up closer until our bodies were next to each other. After a few minutes, he slowly slipped his arm around my waist. And oh, it hurt when he touched me. But I knew now that I would hurt so much more if I pushed him away, and he never touched me again. I took slow breaths through my mouth, and slowly the agony faded, and was replaced with warmth and comfort.

I dreamed about him that night. Soft lips, pressed up against my neck. A firm hand, pressing me back into my bed. Blue eyes, the most intense I’d ever seen.

And in the morning, he was there, and I discovered that his lips were softer, his hands were firmer, and his eyes were bluer than I could have ever dreamed.


End file.
